Little Blade
by MirrorImage003
Summary: They wonder how she made her way into the heart of the Woodland Realm. Drabble series of Tauriel and Mirkwood royalty. [Eventual Thrandiel]
1. Chapter 1: When The Sun Goes Down

_He was my roommate in New Zealand.__I was living with my family down at the beach, and he was living in a hotel room in Wellington. He was sort of lamenting the fact that I was down at this beautiful beach home and he was in a hotel in the city, and I said, "Well, come live with me!"_ **_Evangeline Lilly about Lee Pace_**

When the last of the spiders is dead, shouts fading into hushed murmurs, and the battle now behind them, Thranduil has not the violence nor the adrenaline to distract him from the bloody aftermath.

A soldier brings him the reins of his elk, his war companion, and he mounts with whatever elegance he can summon from his tired body.

Pale blue eyes take in the large twitching bodies of slain spiders, his elves stacking them into piles and setting fire to the foul monsters. The glow from the flames illuminates the tall trees around them as the sun retreats into night. On the other side of the battlegrounds, lay countless elves, immortality ended by poisonous fangs and beady eyes.

"My Lord." He turns to address his Captain, an elf with thick dark hair and black blood staining his cheeks.

"What is the damage, Balthoron?"

The Captain's eyes shine with grief. "There were no survivors from the town, my King. We were too late."

Thranduil closes his eyes, jaw tightening. He does not have the luxury of showing emotion. "Tell the men to make camp for tonight. Get some rest. We will leave at dawn."

Only when the night is deep and his soldiers lay fast asleep from exhaustion, does the Elvenking wander the ruined town, hands twisting in leather reins. And when his faithful elk halts, snout lowering to sniff at the base of a large tree, he tugs gently, fingers stiff from the moon's cold rays.

"Come, Beren." The sturdy animal huffs, rocking his massive antlers to the side before pawing once more at the ground.

Thranduil is about to nudge the stubborn beast into motion when he hears a soft whimper. He does not know quite what to think when he meets teary amber gaze of a scratched and bruised elfling hiding between the roots of the tree.

She does not scream or shout when he coaxes her out of her hole, for which he is infinitely grateful. He does not think his sleep-deprived nerves could handle a child's shrill cry. She only stares with hazy eyes, small fingers digging into the rich fabric of his robes as he kicks Beren into a gallop towards his elven healer.

Thranduil wonders if she knows she is the only survivor. But when he sees the way she turns her head as they pass the villagers corpses, he does not have to ask.

Author's Note: I have found that I am more motivated to finish a story if I do it in drabble-like sequences. This series will be focusing mainly on Tauriel and her relationship with Thranduil as well as Legolas, and will go chronologically, time wise. My knowledge of the Hobbit/Lotr verse is limited to the movies, and from what I've deduced from fanfics (lol) so feel free to correct me on anything I get wrong! Also, I have fallen hard for the Tauriel x Thranduil ship, so this series will begin with a more distant relationship, but eventually evolve into something deeper. Don't ask me how I got to shipping them. You just can't control these things, man. *shamelessly asks for reviews* 


	2. Chapter 2: Of Hair and Titles

She does not speak.

It is six days after the attack, and not one word has come from her mouth.

He receives a report at least once a day, despite having only visiting her twice since he found her.

The stubborn thing refused to even eat, until they discovered her weak spot for fluffy bread and sweet jam.

With no name to call her, the elves tasked with watching over her have taken to calling her Da'mi, for 'little blade,' representing her uncanny ability to display attitude with just her eyes. A small part of Thranduil is amused, and even impressed by her resolve.

But his healers are beginning to become concerned about her silence, wondering if maybe she has been too traumatized to ever properly speak again. Perhaps she is just too young to have gone through something so violent and tragic.

It is on the seventh day that Thranduil makes his third visit. It is nearing nightfall, and his mind is clouded with thoughts of upcoming council meetings and kingdom issues.

He only notices that his son has followed him when the child's loud voice echoes across the room.

"You have funny hair." The orphan girl stares wide-eyed at him from where she is sitting in bed.

"My name is Legolas, and I'm the Prince of the Woodland Realms." He cocks his head to the side. "What is yours?"

Thranduil can only watch in apprehension as the auburn-haired elfling furrows her brows and sits up straighter against the large cushions.

There is a moment in which he believes she will shun his son's naive queries, before her lips part and a small, raspy sound escapes her throat.

"I'm Tauriel." She tips her chin upwards, a twinkle in her eye. "And _I_ am the Daughter of the Forest."

_Author's Note: __I debated whether I should post this today or tomorrow, but here you go :) Just want to thank everyone for their feedback and support! Also, does anyone know how to make a 'line break' when uploading a document? Because it's really starting to piss me off that my text can't be separated from my notes... _

_Really, when are reviews not appreciated?_


	3. Chapter 3: Ink

"Try again, little one."

Tauriel dips the thin brush into the ink bottle for what seems like the umpteenth time. She bites her lip, vision blurring as tears of frustration gather at the corners of her eyes. Her fingers are white as they drag the brush over yet another piece of parchment.

The Sindarin alphabet slowly begins to appear across the page in shaky calligraphy. She can hear the pronunciation of each letter before she scrawls it down, feel the ghost of it roll off her tongue, but the shapes of the characters escape her mind the more she writes.

She is seven letters to the end, and she stares at her brush as it sits on the page, ink soaking its minuscule threads, a black hole of information she can not remember.

"Taur-"

"I don't know!" Her fingers curl into a fist around the wooden stem, other hand striking out at the ink jar until the liquid inside stains her clothes and the floor around her, ceramic shattering upon impact. "I wasn't a princess and I didn't live in a castle, and my ada and nana didn't get to teach me this before-"

She gathers her ruined skirts and sprints out of the large study.

* * *

Thranduil is a busy king. He has important people to talk with and diplomatic letters to write. So he is not entirely sure why he is roaming his own halls in search of one troublesome elfling.

When the tutor he assigned for her came bursting into his council meeting, explaining that he could not find his student anywhere, the King had to refrain from rolling his eyes. How is a millennia-old elf incapable of tracking down a child?

It does not occur to him until after an hour of searching to check back in the study.

"Tauriel."

Her frame freezes from where she is sitting at the desk. She peers up at him, eyes wide at his regal posture and imposing stare.

Thranduil steps more fully into the room, approaching the table and looks down his nose at the mess of ink and parchment. There are pages full of the Sindarin alphabet, some more hastily completed than others, and some not completed at all. Her hands are dyed black, and there are various smudges of ink across her cheeks and nose.

He does not sigh, but his expression relaxes, and he tilts his head down.

"Where are your shoes, Da'mi?"

She curls her toes, shrugging. He briefly thinks of the inky footprints he had seen leading out of the room, and it takes him a moment to realize that she had removed them so they would not see where she was.

Clever little blade.

"I'm sorry I ran away." She plays with the edge of her green dress, looking down so he can not see her face. "But I came back, and I learned the alphabet. I remembered it all by myself...all by myself."

When he sees a dark spot appear on the fabric of her robes that is not ink, and then another and another, he is again reminded of her youth.

He doesn't do well with crying children (he doesn't do well with children in general, really), so he does what he thinks his wife would do.

Another hour later, when the night torches have been lit and he is sure that Legolas is being taken care of, Thranduil stands carefully and leaves the desk for another elf to clean. Her cheeks are crusted with leftover tears, and one side of her face is plastered to where she fell asleep against his chest, but Tauriel does not stir as he carries her to her quarters.

He gently lowers her onto the large bed in the darkened room, placing a blanket over her small shoulders, and shuts the door behind him.

Some are surprised, thinking that this must be the soft side of the King that had been long forgotten. And he does not correct them, for they would not understand.

He too knows what it is like to be all alone.

* * *

_Author's Note: Thank you for the continued support! Another quick update. I'm on a roll._


	4. Chapter 4: Blame it on Me

Tauriel does not know what all the fuss is about, but the elves of Mirkwood have been frantically running around all day. She sits precariously on a suspended stairwell that overlooks the great halls of the kingdom, tracking the movements of the ellons and elleths as if they were busy ants.

"Tonight is _Nost-na-Lothion_, of course!" Legolas replies when she asks why everyone is so excited. Her hazel eyes widen in recognition. Has it already been a year since their last celebration? They say time moves fast for an elf, but Tauriel finds that the days as of late have traveled slower than ever before.

When she is seated at the King's table later that night, one among many, Tauriel wriggles under her stifling formal robes. She watches as those around her converse jovially and swallow down Dorwinion as if it is the oxygen they breathe.

Her eyes have begun to droop under the influence of her full belly and the soft lighting when she feels a tug on her arm.

Legolas, who sits to her right, jerks his hand towards the ground. She grins, and in unison they slide out of their chairs under the table.

"Follow me." Her blonde companion crawls across the floor, careful not to bump into the feet or legs of any elves.

They weave in and out of the crowd until they reach the hallway nearest the storage rooms. A carefree laugh escapes her lips as Legolas swipes a cream covered strawberry from the plate of a passing ellon and pops it into his mouth.

Her gaze slides across the many individuals, landing on one tall elf who is in the midst of telling a story. He waves his arms excitedly, and red wine splashes from his goblet onto the smooth, polished floor.

Legolas follows her eyes, tilting his head to the side. "I've always wondered what it tastes like. Father never lets me have any."

"Well..." A toothy smile lights up the young elleths face. "We'll just have to fix that then."

"What do you-" He watches as she begins sneaking toward the unguarded wine cellar. "Tauriel! Are you sure we should?"

She slides against the wall and peaks into the room. There are hundreds of bottles stacked to the ceiling. "No, but I bet it will be fun." She flashes him a smirk and then darts into the room. "But if you are too afraid, I understand."

He glances nervously around, making sure he is not being watched, and follows her inside. "I'm not afraid!"

A bottle smelling of something earthy and bitter is promptly shoved into his hands. Hazel eyes glint mischievously.

"Prove it then."

* * *

Tauriel can't remember the last time her head had hurt so much in her short life. She is convinced she is seeing sounds and hearing colors as her mind begins to wake up, lashes fluttering over her cheeks.

"Legolas. Tauriel."

Her body stiffens where she lays on what feels like a small cushioned bed. She wills one eye to open, and then the other, until she can clearly see Legolas laying in a similar bed beside her, his own expression reflecting the same pain and fear that she feels. Slowly they look away from each other and at the imposing figure in the room.

Thranduil clasps his hands behind his back, silvery robes rustling just slightly with the movement. "Am I to presume that you both thought of doing something so impetuous or that one of you is more responsible than the other?"

Cold dread settles in her stomach as Tauriel stares down at her lap. Not only had they drank three bottles of wine, but they had broken dozens more in the drunken haze that followed. She should not have challenged Legolas as she had, and she will surely be punished for it.

"Did the Dorwinion wash away your voices along with your common sense?"

Tauriel grips the bedsheets in her fists feeling the weight of the King's gaze on her shoulders, lips parting to speak up when Legolas beats her to it.

"It was my idea, Adar."

Thranduil turns his attention to his son, one thick eyebrow lifting in careful interest. "Is that so."

The young elf nods, but does not dare look to his friend who stares at him from her cot in bewilderment.

"You are to double your study time, and are not allowed to leave your chambers without my permi-"

"It wasn't him, it was me!" She does not think about the impropriety of interrupting her KIng, but looks earnestly at his stern face, guilt churning in her stomach. "I made him do it."

"_Quildë_, Tauriel!" Legolas hisses, "It _was_ me!"

"No it was not!"

"Yes it was!"

Thranduil raises a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose between two fingers, a headache of his own beginning to form. Impatience laces his words. "It does not make a difference to me whether I punish one unruly child or two. Both of you are to remain under strict watch until I say you are allowed to regain your privileges. Am I clear?"

They nod vigorously, eyes wide.

Thranduil takes a moment to fix them both with an irritated look, before sweeping out of the small room.

He inhales deeply, unwilling to think about the pubescent years to come.

* * *

Author's Note: Been a little bit since I last updated, so here's a longer drabble for you! I absolutely love the idea of Tauriel and Legolas being partners in crime as kids, so I definitely had to write this.

_Nost-na-Lothion_: Birth of Flowers-I believe it's the celebration of Spring.

_Quildë_: Quiet!

Hate it? Like it? Love it? Let me know.


	5. Chapter 5: Haunt

She is running.

There is smoke in her nostrils and a scream in her chest and she is running.

Something tickles the back of her neck, and she knows it's coming for her, but the harder she pumps her legs the slower she seems to go.

It digs into her back in two venomous blades, but she can't feel any pain - no stinging or fire or blood, just-

_panic_

beady black eyes

_panic_

leathery legs

_panic_

can't breathe

_panic_

_panic_

_panic-_

Her body jerks, eyes snapping open. Her pillow is damp with sweat (or tears, she can't be sure at this point) and the silken bedsheets are tangled around her feet.

She swallows and her parched throat scratches painfully.

After a moment's hesitation, she is padding silently through the hauntingly beautiful hallways thin arms wrapped tightly around her nightgown clad torso.

The large, intricately engraved door swings open, and Tauriel crawls carefully into the plush bed at the heart of the room.

Legolas murmurs softly in his slumber, golden hair spread like a halo around his face, and sleepily rolls over to create more room.

As the faint snores of her companion lull her into a trance, Tauriel knows that she will not be able to resort to this for much longer. There will come a time when it will be inappropriate for her to seek out comfort in this fashion, when they are older and sharing a bed does not mean for a full-grown elf what it means for two children, when she must learn to fight her demons on her own.

But that time is not now, and her heartbeat steadies into a consistent tempo as her mind slips into blank nothingness.

* * *

Author's Note: I'm aware my last chapter was pretty OOC, so hopefully this makes up for it. For some perspective, Tauriel and Legolas are around eleven years of age in human terms. I don't have a super great grasp on how elven years translate to human years so forgive me if I am not entirely accurate! Sorry for the spotty updates; I promise I am always thinking of this series though! Also, ANGST.

If Sam can carry Frodo's exhausted ass up Mordor, you can leave a review. ;)


	6. Chapter 6: Hungry

Tauriel loves Legolas. Really, she does. He is her best friend, and her most favorite accomplice.

But sometimes she gets an ugly feeling in her chest when she sees him.

It's nothing that he necessarily even does or says.

It's just that sometimes she has to bite her tongue when their calligraphy tutor praises Legolas for copying the literary sample on a script so gracefully but hardly utters a word when she executes it just as well. Or occasionally she must pretend to smile as he talks about his new young elk with its miniature antlers that have not yet grown in.

The feeling is most intense when they are in the presence of the King and he gazes at Legolas with a look of pride and affection that she knows will never be directed at her.

It is not until she is searching for Legolas one day, only to discover him standing among a large company of other adolescent elves, all armed with dulled steel swords, does the burning in her chest finally overcome her.

Tauriel hides behind the pillars each day after that, watching with hungry eyes as the group swings their swords and stumbles vigorously through the motions of lunging and parrying. She can hear Legolas' laughter from her place on the terrace above as he spars with a fellow trainee.

It is a full season later of observing and pining before Tauriel decides she will no longer sulk in the shadows.

If she wants something, she must be bold and take it.

Or, in her case, ask for it.

* * *

Author's note: I imagine that although Tauriel had favor, Legolas had much more.

I shall eagerly await your reviews. :)


	7. Chapter 7: Dream

It has been a long time since Tauriel has been in the presence of the King alone. It has been a long time since she solely has held the King's attention.

Her days of running barefoot around the grand hallways and pulling drunken stunts have passed as she approaches elven adulthood, and with it, the need for her to constantly be under the King's personal supervision.

Tauriel is unfamiliar with the King's royal presence, and has been for quite some time.

"A soldier?"

It is not superfluous to say that Tauriel is quite nervous as she kneels before him, his rich voice sweeping over her.

"Yes, my lord."

His thick robes shimmer in the dim light of his throne room, and Tauriel watches as he paces slowly before her.

"And for what reason do you wish to pursue such a lifestyle?"

She opens her mouth to answer, but finds herself choking on the words. Why exactly does she want to be a soldier? To prove she is as good as Legolas? To defend her people? To better herself?

Her hazel eyes scrutinize the floor in front of her, heart pounding.

"I do not know how to clearly explain my intentions, my lord."

"Then explain it unclearly."

She swallows. "I watch as the others train, and there is a burning within me. I see them form their ranks and stand their ground and I feel as if I would belong nowhere else but beside them. I listen as your Highness' son recounts the days of practice and work and toil, and I wish nothing more than to suffer alongside him and the others, to sacrifice my time as they sacrifice theirs. I desire this life almost more than I desire life itself."

She raises her head and meets his crystal-blue eyes. "And I think I would be very good at it."

He has stopped pacing, chin tipped up and tilted slightly to the side.

Tauriel can not read his thoughts, but she can see his understanding in the way his lips have softened, and his brows lift just slightly.

"I will tell the Captain of your...desire, and inform him to include you in his training ranks. However, you are starting late, so you will be required to train with twice the effort of your peers to catch up to their caliber. Is that understood?"

There is a flutter of raw excitement that is beginning to fill her chest. "Yes, my lord."

"Good. You are dismissed."

Tauriel shoots to her feet, ducking her head to hide her smile, and bows once before him. She is about to take her leave, when his voice interrupts.

"And Tauriel," His back is to her, but she sees his profile turn towards her.

"My lord?"

"Take care to remember that the life of a soldier is not to be romanticized."

"Yes, my lord."

His parting words do not resurface in her memory until several centuries have passed.

* * *

Author's Note: Sorry it's been so long! Life is always getting in the way. I will warn you in advance that this next month will have little to no updates due to the business of my schedule, but stay tuned! I fully intend to finish this series! :)

In human terms, Tauriel is around 17 in this chapter.

R - Really love Thrandiel

E - Everyone should ship Thrandiel

V - Very Thrandiel, much elves

I - I bet Thrandiel would review

E - Eat, sleep, and breathe Thrandiel

W - What Would Thrandiel Do?

:)


	8. Chapter 8: Calloused

"Go rest."

A crease forms between Tauriel's auburn brows, a drop of sweat slipping down her nose as she lifts her head to stare confusedly at the tall, lean elf before her. "Sir?"

Lieutenant Mennor leans his weight to one side and begins to turn around, presumably to walk away. "You are tiring, Tauriel. Your sword arm is getting slower and you are having trouble keeping up with the others."

Her jaw clenches. It had not been but two hours since they had begun training today, learning the basics of how to wield a sword. It was true that Tauriel had been getting sloppier with each executed move, but she did not think her progress was much different than those around her. Legolas himself was breathing harder than her. "With all do respect, I want to continue."

Mennor's shoulders rise and fall as he sighs, turning to face her once again. "Tauriel, it is no secret that females are just not as strong as males. There is nothing to be ashamed of."

The elleth stiffens, blinking rapidly in shock. "You think I am weaker because... I am a female?"

"It is merely a fact of life, not a personal offense." His eyes look at her with a sympathy that makes her blood boil in her veins.

"And what of Officer Laineth? She is not male. Would you call her weak?"

"Tauriel, you see insult where there is none."

A bitter laugh drifts from between her chapped lips. By now several of the elves around them have stopped their training to observe. Tauriel pays them no mind. "You will not answer the question because there is no answer that would not either contradict your convoluted idea or attack Officer Laineth's achievements."

Her superior's gray eyes lose their sympathy, instead hardening in irritation. "Mind who you are speaking to, trainee."

She purses her lips, trying to choke back the anger that is crushing her chest. Behind her instructor, she sees Legolas staring at her, shifting his blunt sword from one hand to the other nervously. For all the world, she cannot tell what he is thinking.

Tauriel lowers her eyes. "My apologies, sir." The words leave a sour taste in her mouth.

"As I said, take a break." He holds out his hand, and she hands him her sword. As he walks away and she is forced to make her way through the crowd of eyes to the water barrels at the edge of the grounds, she feels as if he has taken her dignity with him.

* * *

The next morning, Tauriel wakes before the sun has risen.

Her fingers curl around the steel hilt of the practice sword that she took from the training grounds, the weight pulling at the muscles in her bicep and shoulder. She feels the raw pain as blisters take host on her hands, but she does not cringe. They will soon become callouses lining her palms, creating a natural grip more effective than any glove.

She watches her breath curl into a cloud before her, the cold air making the forest seem emptier than it already is.

Her teeth grit and she lunges forward, a dull thud resonating through the silence when her blade meets the trunk of a corpulent tree.

She understands now.

Her femininity (the lack of something hanging between her legs) only means she will have to work harder than any of the others.

She will have to be more than them: more dedicated, more tough, more willing. She will have to be ten times better just to be recognized as a soldier.

She will have to be the best, just to be seen as an equal.

* * *

Author's Note: In this chapter, I wanted to introduce a new concept to Tauriel's character. I want to make it clear that I don't think the elves have an inherently sexist culture, and I am not trying to pass Mennor off as a sexist jerk. In fact, I think that the level of equality between the genders is incredibly high because of their immortality. With more time, there is more understanding and deeper respect going both ways. However, I do think that when it comes to warfare, or more frankly, physical ability, many elves would still have certain inhibitions.

That is why Tauriel is so shocked when Mennor treats her as weaker or more delicate. She has not faced sexism ever before, or very rarely, so this is incredibly new to her. I'll continue to expand on her experience with this in the future!

Also, many of you are probably frustrated with the lack of Thranduil/Tauriel interaction. I'm sorry it is taking longer to develop, but I am a fan of slow-burn relationships, and considering how long elves live, I think it would be appropriate to grow their relationship carefully and patiently. I will warn you that it will be a while before any blatant romance occurs between them. At this point in the story, I am focusing much more on Tauriel as a character than as a romantic interest.

Okay, that was a very long note. Thank you for reading! :)


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